


dusting off the quiet

by AudreyRoscoe



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Everyone hurts, Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recovery, Somehow, Spoilers, Steve tries to fix it, Therapist Sam Wilson, please mind the tags, the aftermath, therapist Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-07 03:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AudreyRoscoe/pseuds/AudreyRoscoe
Summary: After the fight, there are too many broken hearts to fix.Steve decides to help and starts with his own.





	dusting off the quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> **This is your last chance to turn back if you haven't seen Endgame!**
> 
> If you have or don't care about spoilers: Welcome and thank you for clicking! <3  
> I really liked the movie but wasn't completely satisfied with the ending. Steve definitely deserves to be happy, but I simply can't imagine he would actually do it like this.  
> And since I absolutely adored Steve trying his best to help others after the snap, I wanted to write some kind of Fix-It-Story, in which Steve also gets his own healing, along with others.

 

> _The world_
> 
> _is too quiet_
> 
> _without you_
> 
> _nearby_
> 
>  
> 
> Lemony Snickett
> 
>  

 

 

Somehow, out of everything, the silence was the worst.  
He couldn’t hear his own breathing, nor any other sound.

The pain all over his body, scratches and gaping wounds, felt almost unbearable, but it didn’t beat the way all movement, all feeling, all life, had seemingly ceased to exist in this moment.

Steve felt the scorching hot earth underneath him, felt the flames around them almost licking at his skin, creeping closer by the second, but none of them dared to do anything about it.  
It was as if they had collectively agreed that if they just stopped everything, every breath and every move, then time could be kind enough to stop along with them.

All around him, faces were morphed into expressions of horror and grief and catharsis, lips trembling, eyes bloodshot, bodies frozen.

Tony Stark was dead and the whole world had died with him.

 

 

-

 

 

In the heat of the battlefield, Mjölnjir in his hand, fighting, fighting, fighting, Steve had barely been able to grasp what really had happened.  
He had simply suddenly known that he wasn’t alone anymore, that people had come to help.

Right now, his face covered in ash, body limping, battle over, he spotted two of them.

Spotted Sam.

Sam.

And then - him.

Bucky.

 

-

 

 

The next thing Steve registered was the tight hug he was engulfed in.  
He felt arms pressing him close, closer, impossibly closer, felt the air being pressed from his lungs. Found himself able to breathe despite of it, after seemingly having gone full hours without.  
He pressed his nose into Bucky’s neck, tried to find words. Felt emotions crashing into him in waves, filling his veins like blood, thick and so overwhelming that they needed a way out again, hot, painful tears rolling down his cheeks while his hands somehow tried to find a way to hold on, to hold on and not lose.

 

 

-

 

“It’s okay, Stevie. It will be okay.”

Buckys words were too physical, felt like they were pressing against his ears until they popped and the sound rushed back, filled his body, kickstarted his aching heart.

He heard the sobs, the grief of a woman and mother who lost her husband, the grief of a 15-year-old that had been killed just to come back to his mentor dying in front of him, both of them hugging each other in the lobby of the man that they had lost.

Their shared pain felt too tangible and Steve wished he could take it all, all away from them.

 

 

-

 

 

Healing, Steve learns, consists of many different things; variables and aspects and resolutions and fallbacks and breakdowns.

Healing is something they all have to learn again and again and again.

Healing is what, after the snap five years ago, kept Steve going.  
It’s what made him remember Sam’s words and the things he did, the things Steve admired him for.  
Talking and saving and healing.

It’s what keeps him going now.

 

 

-

 

 

Weeks pass after their fight against Thanos and soon, they all find themselves gathered at Tony’s and then Natasha’s burial, before they all do their best to return to the lives they lived before the snap, before any of this happened.

After the initial gaping wound starts to slowly knot itself back to soft scar tissue, Steve spends his time talking to Sam and Bucky, piecing himself and each other back together.  
It feels somewhat relieving to cry and mourn, both of them letting him be open with it. They're not forcing him back to his old composed self too quickly, not before he isn’t ready to go back to this version of himself.

They try to erase the endless thought-spiral that tells him _It should have been you, it should have been you, it should have been-_

During his many talks with Sam, who almost seamlessly falls back into his old counselor role, Steve decides to listen to what Tony advised him to do, what feels like whole lifetimes ago.  
That night, he throws all caution and hesitation to the wind and finally confesses to Bucky.

 

 

-

 

“Ready?”  
Bucky looks at him and Steve wishes he could pick out every single emotion from his face, just so he could cater to all of them, fix the negative ones and hold the other ones close.  
Instead, he picks one and responds to it, leans forward and presses a soft, light kiss to Bucky’s lips, feels him smiling, still hesitant.

“I got this.”  
He smiles his best smile, remembers with a fond chuckle how Tony once mentioned that he would very much like to punch his teeth out, before he opens the door to a bright, square room, filled with soft light and comfortable furniture; bookshelves and plants and paintings.

In 12 chairs, placed in a circle, nine people chatter with each other, voices pitched high with nerves, some of them keeping to themselves, their eyes fixing on Steve as he makes his way towards them.

He sits down on his own seat, fixes the sleeves of his worn flannel, before smiling softly at his little group.

“I’m glad you all came again today. I need you to know that this is a safe place, where everyone can talk about what they want to share,” he takes a breath then, gaze turning serious.  
“And I’m very proud of every single one of you.”

Just as he ends the sentence, another door to the room slowly creaks open, revealing a pale boy, backpack slung around his shoulders.  
Steve looks at him, sees the remains of hastily wiped tears on the boy’s cheeks and feels a pang in his chest, his smile quivering at all the pain in the boy’s expression, at the way he slumps into the chair, the tiniest bit of hope on his face.

Steve nods.  
Smiles warmly.

“Peter. I’m so glad you made it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> (The change in tenses is intended by the way)  
> I would love to hear your thoughts!
> 
>    
> [Twitter](https://mobile.twitter.com/AudreyRoscoe)  
> [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/AudreyRoscoe)


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